It all starts out in a fit of anger at one in the morning, as good things so often do, and even though it’s a rainy Tuesday in the middle of June, it has promise.

It all starts because the stupid object of Jongdae’s unrequited affection is currently hooking with some other intern in the tiny little apartment they share and Jongdae doesn’t know anyone else in this dumb town besides Yixing, the Chinese dancer and lab assistant who moved here to be with his boyfriend six months ago. Three months ago, that boyfriend dumped him for a little Korean kid, leaving the poor thing in a strange city in a strange country. He and Jongdae have shared a lot of cups of coffee on cold mornings, reminiscing about home in a convoluted soup of Mandarin and Korean and English under the guise of research – they’re both doing grunt work in Lee Jinki’s lab for a tiny little pittance so they can pay rent – Yixing all of his, now that Yifan’s gone, and Jongdae half on the place he shares with Minseok – and maybe someday do real science. Neither of them has any idea at all what they’re doing in life nor in a chemistry lab, but Jongdae has nowhere else to go in his ty little car on that rainy Tuesday in the middle of June, so he drives to Yixing’s apartment complex and dials the other boy’s number from the parking lot.

His heart is beating fast and he’s not quite sure whether it’s from anger at Minseok or the other stupid intern or nerves or what, but Jongdae knows he wants to get out and he’s not sure where, but he remembers Yixing saying something about feeling trapped in the city, and their lonely twenty-something types are always awake in the middle of the night and he’s got a full tank of gas because he never drives anywhere and so he punches Yixing’s number into his outdated phone – he’s good at remembering numbers – and calls, and Yixing picks up, tears on the edge of his voice, and within five minutes they’re on the expressway out of the city in a nervous but not unpleasant silence.

A few tears fall silently down Yixing’s cheeks and then he brings a graceful hand up to the radio dial, glancing imploringly at Jongdae, who offers him a gentle little smile and a nod. Midnight radio is never great, but it beats silence, and Jongdae drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time to some pop song he vaguely knows.

“Where’re we going?” Yixing finally asks after two or seven miles – neither of them really understands the English system – and Jongdae can smell the whiskey and tears on his breath.

“I have no idea,” the Korean kid sighs, shaking his head.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Yixing raises an eyebrow.

“I swear I’m okay. I just needed to get out. Are you okay? It takes a lot to be willing to run away with a crazy kid at one in the morning. Is there anywhere you wanna go?”

“I don’t know. If I wanna go anywhere, I mean. I’m not really sure if I’m okay either, I guess,” he chuckles bitterly.

Jongdae shakes his head and exhales. “Yifan?”

Yixing nods, his voice tight. “He found some little undergrad – you know how it goes…”

Jongdae nods. “I know all too well.”

“What’s up with you? Why are you fleeing town in the middle of the night?”

“Apartment’s otherwise occupied.”

“Minseok?”

“And some other intern, yeah.”

Yixing wipes his tears on the side of his hand, sniffing as his face breaks into a rueful smile. “I guess we’re both ed. Or never getting ed, as the case may be,” he snorts.

Jongdae’s lips twitch from their nervous line. “Seriously, do you want to go anywhere?”

“How much gas do you have?”

“Tank’s full.”

“in’ anywhere.”

It’s amazing how fast Yixing’s picked up on American profanity, and it’s amazing how fast time passes while they talk about where they’ve lived and who they’ve loved and how strange it is to carry their identities on their sleeves as such miserably obvious and out-of-place foreigners.

Miles pass and so do hours and by sunrise, they’re halfway into the next state and, although they might not realize it for a few more months, their tired hearts are halfway intertwined.  Their faces are stiff and their throats are sore from hours of tears and laughter and Jongdae’s yawning behind the wheel.

The sky is a startling shade orange and gray when the car starts groaning for gas. They’re nowhere near a town, stuck in an empty oasis of thunder and agriculture, and Yixing keeps telling Jongdae to pull over, but the smaller boy’s troubled soul can’t help but keep going. He needs to run out of gas, to push himself as far as he can possibly go, and Yixing can’t really protest because he’s ultimately just along for the ride.

The gas gauge is a millimeter past E and they’re still seventeen miles outside of some one-horse town when they skid to a slow halt on the side of the road, and what’s even more amazing than how fast Jongdae and Yixing fall for each other’s stories and accents and tears is how fast they fall asleep in each other’s arms in the creaky backseat, Jongdae’s bones and Yixing’s sinew covered a blanket of moth-eaten jackets that smell like Jongdae’s old cologne and older lovers.

Yixing will be added to the ranks of said lovers soon enough, but for now, he’s content with dreaming under the yellow rain slicker that Jongdae was wearing when they first met each other the previous December. He’s content with inhaling the scent of peppermint shampoo and brokenhearted ennui from where his nose rests on Jongdae’s scalp and wrapping his long arms around Jongdae’s fragile, electric body.

And as the rain drums on the station wagon’s roof, he knows that he’s content with being along for the ride, too, because he’s falling fast asleep in a new friend’s care in the middle of nowhere and he feels a lot safer and a lot less vulnerable than he ever has in this new mess of a country, because he and Jongdae are alone in it together.